


maybe it's not my weekend

by heart_made_of_glass



Series: i wanna feel weightless [1]
Category: SKAM (Netherlands), WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Minor Injuries, Spider-Man!Jens, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_made_of_glass/pseuds/heart_made_of_glass
Summary: It was just supposed to be another night of patrolling, but it wasn't, and Jens blames Robbe for everything.Lucas had just wanted a quite night in, for once.This...well, this wasn't supposed to happen.
Relationships: Jens Stoffels/Lucas van der Heijden
Series: i wanna feel weightless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600360
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	maybe it's not my weekend

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything for SKAM, and especially for these twos. This happened because I saw a picture of Jens in a red shirt and my mind immediately went, "...Spider-Man?" This was just supposed to be a drabble, but it completely got away from me!
> 
> Title from the song "Weightless" by All Time Low

His cell phone was broken— possibly beyond repair— and Jens was 93% sure that he could blame it all on Robbe.

A hiss escaped his lips, and Jens felt the metal casing of the cell phone give way in his clutched fist. Scratch the 93%; this was 100% Robbe’s fault, and Jens fully intended on holding onto this grudge. A cracked screen could have been replaced. A completely crushed and now useless mobile device? Yeah, there was no warranty that was going to cover that.

_Goddamn it, Robbe._

The thought had barely crossed Jens’s mind— for the fifth time in only three minutes, and yes, he was counting— when Jens felt his knees begin to buckle. He tossed the now worthless clump of metal off to the side, not caring where it landed, as he collapsed on the roof. He had just enough strength to keep himself from fully hitting the ground, managing to catch himself on his hands and knees, just barely. He gasped for breath as he felt the stabbing pain in his side begin to throb painfully. A dry, humorless chuckle drifted over the rooftop at that thought. _Stabbing pain_. What an apt description for what had happened.

 _This isn’t good. This isn’t good. This isn’t good._ It’s all Jens could think of, because this _wasn’t good_. Jens had been stabbed before— way too many times before; far too many for Jens to count, and he’s sure he should be more bothered by that than he actually is. Being stabbed came with the territory, as he had explained to Robbe on more than one occasion. Jens was an old hat at getting stabbed, and, usually, it was never that big of a deal. Usually, Jens wouldn’t be collapsed on the roof of Robbe’s apartment building, crumbled on his knees and slowly bleeding out. Usually, though, Robbe was in said apartment, ready to help if anything went wrong.

Robbe wasn’t in his apartment. _This isn’t good_.

Jens couldn’t go to the hospital, and he desperately needed to stop his blood from escaping his body if he didn’t want this to be his last night on earth. He really didn’t want this to be his last night on earth. He groaned as the pain seemed to get even more intense. _How was that even possible?_ Clenching his teeth, Jens pushed himself up until he was sitting back on his heels, one hand covering the gaping wound in his side. He panted slightly as he thought about his next course of action. Robbe wasn’t home, but Jens’s medical supplies were, and he needed them, _right now_.

Theoretically, Jens could just break into Robbe’s apartment. He had stopped a bus with his bare hands once; a little bit of glass on a window wouldn’t be able to stop him. But Jens wasn’t a criminal, not by any stretch of the imagination. Well, maybe if you asked the police chief he would have a different opinion, but that guy was a jerk, so Jens didn’t really think he counted. No. Even though it would be easy to just break into the apartment, take the first-aid kit, and get out, he couldn’t do it. So, instead, Jens had called Robbe to tell him to get his ass back to the apartment as soon as yesterday, please and thank you. The only problem was that Robbe hadn’t answered.

This whole thing was 100% Robbe’s fault, and he was definitely going to get the dry cleaning bill. Another dark chuckle. Like he gets the suit dry cleaned.

Another gasp, another jolt of pain. Jens was running out of options, running out of time. He was losing too much blood. The wound was too big, bigger than knife wounds usually were. Unfortunately, Jens didn’t think he could get away with blaming Robbe for this part. He had been the one to move while the knife had been buried to the hilt in his skin. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid, dumb, idiot, _rookie_ mistake, and it was a mistake that Jens was now paying dearly for.

The hand covering the wound tightened, fingers curling until they dug into his torn flesh, eliciting another hiss. _Good_ , he told himself. _Feel the pain. Stay focused on the pain_. He needed to stop getting distracted if he wanted to figure himself a way out of this situation. Robbe wasn’t home. He couldn’t get his supplies. He couldn’t go to his house, because if his mother found him like this, it wouldn’t be the knife wound that killed him.

_Think,_ _Stoffels, think._

Jens’s head jerked up and he glanced around. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, but he knew it was there and that he would know it when he found it.

Robbe had asked once how the sixth sense worked, and even though Jens had wanted to, he couldn’t explain it. There were no words to describe the extra sense that Jens had acquired after he had been bitten. All he knew was that suddenly he got this feeling, this chill tingling down his spine, when he was in trouble. Sometimes the tingling warned him of danger to come, of attacks he might not have noticed otherwise. Sometimes the tingling helped lead him to help when everything else had failed. The tingling had, he reflected in irritation, abandoned him earlier, otherwise he wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place. Seemed like the sixth sense wanted to make it up to him, because Jens suddenly knew that _something_ was close, something that he could use to keep himself alive.

Another quick glance of his surroundings, and that feeling hit him again, like a freight train. Jens’s breath caught in his throat. _There_. Just across the street from Robbe’s apartment was possibly Jens’s saving grace.

An open window.

Now, Jens knows, okay? He _knows_. He’s not a criminal, and he will never be a criminal, no matter what the police think of him and his methods. Entering an apartment through an open window without being invited was technically a crime, breaking and entering if you wanted to get specific about it. But...was it a full crime? He wouldn’t be breaking, just entering. Bugs enter open windows all the time, and nobody ever sues them. All Jens needed to do was enter the apartment with a spider’s precision and cunning. If he could do that, no one need ever be the wiser that he was ever there.

Of course, Jens couldn’t be sure that the owner of that apartment would have any of the equipment he would need, but Jens is sure that he could find something to make do with. Probably. Most likely. No, definitely. He would definitely find something that he could work with. He’d have to, right? He didn’t really have much of a choice at this point.

Okay. Entering the apartment would not be a crime, because he wasn’t technically breaking into it. That logic probably wouldn’t hold up in court if anyone found him, but Jens was literally _dying_ here. He’s pretty sure that gives him the right to think outside the box, just a little bit. Not a crime, and Jens would find something to stop his life from leaving his body. Decision made, all that was left for Jens to find a way to the apartment across the street.

That was going to be the hard part, Jens had to admit.

Steeling himself, jaw clenched, Jens shoved himself to his feet. The world immediately swam before Jens’s eyes, and it took all the strength he could find to keep him standing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. With each ragged breath, the world seemed to right itself, just a little. Eventually, Jens felt as if he had enough control to take a step, and then one more. Before he knew it, he had made it to the edge of the roof.

_There we go, Stoffels. You’re almost there._

All that was left was for Jens to get to the other side of the street. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue. Now, however, Jens felt as if he was more likely to tumble off the side of the building than manage one measly swing into the open window.

Jens allowed himself one more deep breath before he stuck his left hand out, aiming for the other apartment building as well as he could. He had a much better chance of making the shot with his right hand, but seeing as how that one was currently trying to keep all of his blood inside of his body, he would just have to make do with the less stable accuracy of the other. Breathe in, breathe out. Shoot the web.

It connected.

Oh, thank _fuck_ it connected.

Another clench of his jaw, and Jens launched himself off the roof. When Jens looked back on this night, he’s not sure he’s ever going to forget how close he was to the wall. At the last second, he was able to twist his body and slide through the open window, but it was a near miss. If Jens ever told Robbe, he’s sure the other boy would not let him live that almost-mistake down.

Of course, Robbe wouldn’t really have a leg to stand on this. This whole wreck of a night was his fault, after all. Except, of course, the _whole_ night wasn’t really on Robbe. Only a fraction of the mess could be pinned on Jens’s best friend. Oh, all right, then. Jens guesses he’s comfortable with going back to blaming only 93% of this whole train wreck on Robbe. He had better appreciate the favor Jens was doing him here.

All of the breath leaves Jens’s body as he smacks onto the floor of the apartment he just fell into. His hand is jerked away from his side, and Jens can feel another, huge glob of blood fall to the floor. He needed to find a first-aid kit, or some needle and thread, or _something_ , and he needed to find it now. Gritting his teeth for what feels like the hundredth time that night, Jens shoved himself into a sitting position and glanced around, trying to decide where he should start his search.

 _This is a bedroom_ , he noticed, and had the fleeting, random thought that maybe in his confusion he had tripped and fallen into Robbe’s apartment by accident, because his best friend’s bedroom looked almost identical to this one. There were clothes strewn all over the floor, band posters on the walls, and an unmade bed sat in the middle of the room. However, unlike Robbe’s apartment, a boy— no older than Jens, he noticed immediately— sat on the unmade, laptop cradled on his thighs.

Oh, fuck. Could this night get any worse?

oOo

Lucas was lonely and miserable, and he knew that he only had himself to blame.

Kes had invited him to the party at...Isa’s? Yes, Lucas is fairly sure that the party this weekend was at Isa’s. Or was that the party from last weekend? He didn’t know, and, if he was being honest, he didn’t really care. All the parties seemed to blend into one another after a while, and Lucas was over them, entirely. Or, at least, for the moment. He needed a party detox.

He had felt guilty about it— still felt guilty about it— but when Kes had brought up going to the party earlier, Lucas had lied. He had kept his calm, kept his party fatigue under control, and looked his best friend in the eyes and lied. He wasn’t proud of it, he really wasn’t, but he just couldn’t stomach another night of getting drunk with the boys, listening to their explicit tales of their latest exploits, and watching Kes make sad heart eyes at Isa all night, which brought up a whole host of issues that he could not even begin to break down right now. He had suspected that he might miss the weed— and he definitely was, especially if he was going to attempt to untangle the big ball of guilt that was Kes and Isa— and watching Jayden strike out for another consecutive week, but the bad of the party had far outweighed the good. So, instead of suffering through another monotonous Saturday night, Lucas had told Kes that he couldn’t make it to the party because his mother had needed him.

It wasn’t a total lie, he had tried to reason with himself. His mother did need him more often than not, and Lucas always felt better if he was close by in case anything happened. And to make himself feel even better about the whole lie, he had gone in search of his mother before retiring to his room for the night. He figured that he might make the dinner for the two of them, and then they could spend a few mindless hours on the couch binge watching something on Netflix. However, when he had found her, she had claimed that she wasn’t hungry, only tired, and she had disappeared inside her bedroom, leaving only the sound of the lock clicking in her wake.

So, here Lucas was, laying in his bed, laptop on his thighs, re-watching a show he had already seen and found he no longer really cared about. Maybe he should have just sucked it up and gone to the party, after all. He thought staying in had been the better of two options, but he was feeling just as awful as he’d be feeling at the party, and at least at the party he wouldn’t be alone.

The episode that was playing came to an end, the next immediately queuing up, and Lucas was debating the likelihood of death by boredom, when something came crashing through the open window. His mother was always on him about closing the window, because insects kept sneaking into the apartment, but Lucas liked the fresh air. It helped to make the small bedroom seem less small. That sound, however, was not the sound any insect known to man makes when they sneak in through an open window, and Lucas thinks that he maybe should have listened to his mother and shut the damn thing.

Lucas slammed the laptop shut and shoved it off to the side, already forgotten. He pulled himself onto the bed until he was sitting back against the headboard, and then he just stared, wide-eyed. This could not be happening. There was no way that this was happening, because things like this just did not happen to guys like Lucas. Guys like him don’t just lounge in their bedrooms, wallowing in their own self-pity, and then suddenly find…

And then suddenly find…

Spider-Man. In his bedroom. On the floor, of his bedroom. This was not happening.

 _Holy fuck_ , Lucas thought.

“Holy fuck,” Spider-Man said.

“You can talk,” Lucas said, and then immediately wanted to bang his head on the wall closest to him until he became less of a moron. Of course Spider-Man could talk. How many videos had Lucas watched of Spider-Man on YouTube? He always had something to say to the criminals he caught, some quick-witted quip that made Lucas laugh.

“You’re a quick one,” Spider-Man muttered, and then grimaced, as if he just realized that was a rude thing to say to someone you had just met by falling through their bedroom window. Only, Lucas noticed when he narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the figure in front of him, that grimace had nothing to do with any social regret. No, it probably had more to do with that wound Lucas could see on Spider-Man’s side, a wound that was large and seeping blood all over his bedroom floor.

Lucas pushed himself to the edge of the bed, poised to get up and rush over to the figure crumbled in front of his bed, but then he paused. For some reason, Lucas felt as if he needed to keep his distance from the other man. “You’re injured,” he stated instead.

“Nothing gets past you,” Spider-Man groaned as he twisted around, flopping onto his back, a hand reaching up to clutch at his side. Even though the hero had his mask on, Lucas could tell that his face was scrunched up in pain. Spider-Man had superpowers, Lucas knew. If he was in pain, something must really be wrong.

“Do you...are you…,” Lucas stuttered out, and then immediately slammed his mouth shut. This wasn’t like him, it really wasn’t. He may not be as suave as Kes could be sometimes, but he was never this awkward. He almost always had something to say, had never really been at a loss for words before. However, Lucas did feel as if he could be cut a little bit of slack here. After all, he had never found himself face-to-face with a bleeding superhero before. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, just a bit.” With what looked like a supreme amount of effort, Spider-Man was able to pull himself into a sitting position, his eyes trained on Lucas. It was unnerving, Lucas found, to find those masked eyes staring into you. How did the criminals that came up against that gaze not just immediately begin quaking? Lucas had done nothing wrong, was firmly the victim here, and all he wanted to do was turn tail and run. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

Well, that was just rude. “Excuse me?” There was probably more attitude in that than there should have been, considering the other man could throw him into a wall just using his pinky finger, but where did Spider-Man get off? This was Lucas’s bedroom. If anyone wasn’t supposed to be there, it was _Spider-Man_ , not him.

“The light is off,” Spider-Man explained. “I didn’t think anyone was home.”

That made it a little better, Lucas supposed. “Sorry to disappoint,” Lucas threw back at the superhero, because clearly that filter in his head that was supposed to keep him from saying stupid things was malfunctioning. “Should I get out of your hair, then?” Flaming shit, what was wrong with him? Was it too late to go with his original plan and bang his head against the wall to knock some sense into him?

“Actually,” Spider-Man said, a hand coming up to clutch the end of Lucas’s bed in an attempt to help Spider-Man pull himself to his feet. “This might be better. First-aid kit. You got one?”

Did he have a first-aid kit? Lucas almost rolled his eyes at the question. Oh yes, there was a first-aid kit in the apartment. His mother goes on a “the world is ending,” survivalist kick every few months, and each time that she does, she adds something new to their first-aid kit. The overflowing case is, honestly, less of a first-aid kit by now, and more of a doomsday preparer’s wet dream. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Lucas wasn’t sure how it was possible, the mask still in place and all, but he could tell that Spider-Man’s eyebrow had just lifted in a silent question. “The sounds like a story you’ll have to tell me later.” There was another grimace— this one a full-body one— and then Spider-Man heavily sat himself down on the end of Lucas’s bed. Idly, Lucas hoped that he didn’t bleed on the sheets. That wasn’t a stain that would come out, and it was definitely not a stain that he wanted to attempt to explain to his mother.

For a moment, Lucas just sat there, taking in the sight of Spider-Man resting on his bed. He had watched so many videos of this man, had idolized him— in secret— for so long, that it was completely surreal that he was here now, that Lucas was meeting him in person. This wasn’t how he thought the night was going to go, wasn’t how the night was _supposed_ to go. All of a sudden, Lucas found that he was very glad that he hadn’t let Kes talk him into going to the party.

The moment was broken when Spider-Man cleared his throat. Over his shoulder, he tossed Lucas a faintly amused, slightly exasperated look, and Lucas was once again floored by how he could decipher that look through fabric covering the other man’s face. “Well? Are you going to get the first-aid kit, or do I need to go tearing through your apartment for it myself?”

“Oh!” Lucas jumped off the bed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, because he hadn’t meant to let that sound leave his mouth. Ducking his head, he moved to the door, yanking it open, all while trying to ignore how he could feel Spider-Man’s gaze boring into his back. “I’ll just...I’ll go...yeah.” And with that sparkling display of his intellect, Lucas made his escape from the room.

He leaned up against the door once it was shut behind him, closed his eyes, and just breathed, which he felt he hadn’t been doing enough of in the past few minutes. That was crazy. The whole thing was crazy, and it was still crazy, because it wasn’t over.

After Lucas was sure he had regained control of himself, he pushed himself off the door and made his way over to the hall closet, where his mother kept their first-aid kit. He threw open the door, and then cursed himself. Just because his mother was having one of her nights where the rest of the world seemed dead to her, didn’t mean she wouldn’t come out to see what Lucas was up to if he kept making all this noise. Making a conscious effort to be quiet, Lucas dug around in the closet until he came up with the bursting first-aid kit. Shutting the door as quietly as he could, he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way back to his bedroom.

Entering the room, Lucas was inexplicably pleased to see that Spider-Man was still, there and the hadn’t moved even an inch from where Lucas had left him. Tossing the case on the bed, Lucas immediately began rummaging in it for the anti-septic and everything they would need to suture Spider-Man’s wound closed.

His treasures in hand, Lucas turned back to Spider-Man, only to find the other man watching him. “Thank you,” Spider-Man said, and Lucas was shocked to note that there was no edge in the superhero’s voice, as everything he had said that evening had bordered on the sarcastic. “Give that here, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Lucas yanked the medical supplies out of Spider-Man’s range, a deep frown on his face. “You have got to be kidding me. You can’t just leave.”

Another raise of the eyebrow, and Spider-Man’s expressiveness was starting to become more familiar to Lucas, starting to shock him less. “Can’t I?”

“No. No, you can’t. You can’t even stand up,” Lucas observed, and he could tell that Spider-Man’s mouth had dipped down into a frown. Hit that nail on the head. “There’s no way you can leave here before you’re stitched up.”

“So, give me that shit so I can stitch myself up,” Spider-Man snapped, and Lucas’s first thought was that the other man sounded strangely young when he cursed. His second thought was that he should probably tread more carefully, in case Spider-Man lost his temper and accidentally did something that they were both going to regret.

His third thought? That there was a superhero bleeding out on his bed, and that said superhero was being moronically stubborn. Lucas wasn’t going to let Spider-Man’s stubbornness or his idiocy get him killed. With a shake of his head, Lucas knelt down in front of Spider-Man, so that he was at eye-level with the hero’s wound. He ripped open the package of the anti-septic wipe with his teeth, ignoring the heat that was once more rushing into his cheeks. Kneeling down in front of a bleeding superhero. This definitely wasn’t how Lucas had pictured the night playing out.

“What are you doing?” Spider-Man asked, and Lucas could hear that his voice sounded strangled, in a way. _Because of the pain_ , Lucas told himself. It was because of the pain and nothing else, especially nothing that had anything to do with Lucas’s current position in front of him.

“The wound will get infected if I don’t clean it first,” Lucas answered, and then frowned. “That is, if it isn’t infected already.”

Lucas was sure that Spider-Man meant to say something to that, probably protest his lack of care for his torn flesh. The other man made a noise that was probably intended to turn into a word, only, instead, it turned into a low, pained hiss. Lucas had just touched the anti-septic wipe to Spider-Man’s skin, and he made a sympathetic sound deep in his throat for how much it looked like it hurt, but he didn’t stop cleaning the wound. He needed to get this done, and if the other man couldn’t even handle this, Lucas was worried about what would happen when it finally came to stitching the wound closed.

Finishing with the wipe, Lucas tossed it somewhere on the floor, already moving on to his next task. Future Lucas could be worried about picking up the soiled wipe; Lucas of the present had more pressing issues.

He knew that the needle was sterile, because his mother cleaned it each time she went through one of her doomsday phases. “You never know when you’re going to need it,” she would always say. Lucas wouldn’t be able to tell her how right she had been about that. Keeping his hands as steady as possible, Lucas threaded the needle and then brought it to Spider-Man’s side.

“Wait, wait, wait. You can’t—,” Spider-Man started to protest, but Lucas didn’t let him finish. He had mustered up all the courage that he had in order to do this, and if he hesitated even in the slightest, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, Lucas stabbed the needle into Spider-Man’s flesh and he tried to ignore the sound that made.

Spider-Man let out a chocked sound, and a fist came up to press against the place Lucas assumed the man’s mouth to be. Lucas pulled the needle through to the other side, and then he repeated the process again and again. _It’s just like clothes_ , he told himself. _It’s just like sewing fabric. Don’t think about anything else, just fabric._

While Lucas had been working, Spider-Man had just been trying to breathe, and Lucas could appreciate that. It had to hurt like all hell to have a needle pulling at your skin. Not that Lucas would know, of course, and he prayed to whatever power was out there that he would never find out. “Where,” Spider-Man started to say, and Lucas immediately glanced up at the other man, before returning his focus to his hands. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“I’ve patched up holes in clothes before,” he said, and was grateful beyond words when Spider-Man didn’t comment on that. He had been afraid the other man would ask why he didn’t just throw holey clothes out and buy new ones, and that was not a conversation he wanted to have with a literal superhero. It wasn’t even a conversation he liked to have with Kes.

They didn’t talk much after that. There wasn’t much to say, honestly. Lucas needed to concentrate on properly sewing the wound shut, and Spider-Man needed to concentrate on breathing through the pain and not passing out. It was very hard, in all seriousness, to decide which of them had the more important job. Fortunately for both of them, it didn’t take too much longer for Lucas to finish. He fell back on his heels, letting out his first deep breath since the needle had been thread, and just stared at the rough, yet clean, piece of work he had just accomplished.

His hands were covered in the other man’s blood, though he did his best to ignore that fact. He knew that he was only able to do that because of the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He had done that. In a crisis, in a moment of panic, Lucas had stepped up to the plate, and he had _sewn somebody’s skin shut_.

Spider-Man climbed off the bed and carefully stepped around Lucas, who was still crouched by the end of the bed. The other man glanced down at his side, gently touching the new suture. He hissed at the contact, but then gave a pleased nod. “Not bad,” he praised, and Lucas was relieved to note that his voice didn’t sound as strangled as it had. “You did a much better job than I would have, I have to admit.”

Even though he was still breathing heavy, even though he had someone else’s blood staining his hands, even though the haze was leaving him and Lucas was suddenly starting to feel numb with everything that had happened, he couldn’t help but smile, both at Spider-Man’s words and at the surprised tone he used. He had done something good tonight, and here was the proof.

“Maybe I’ll come to you for the next stitch, too,” Spider-Man joked, and it shocked a laugh out of Lucas.

“Don’t you dare,” he shot back, and was pleased when he got a chuckle of his own.

Spider-Man moved around Lucas once more, only this time he headed back to the still open window. He started to climb out of it, but paused with one leg raised and glanced back at Lucas. “Thank you, again.”

Lucas pulled himself to his feet and took a step forward, only to stop. He suddenly felt, once again, that he shouldn’t get too close. “You’re leaving? Are you okay to leave?”

Spider-Man tilted his head to the side, and Lucas could just tell that the other man was grinning at him. “I’m all good, thanks to you.” Something pleasant thrilled down Lucas’s spine, and the heat returned to his cheeks. He was relieved that Spider-Man didn’t comment on this, or any of the other times it had happened. “But,” Spider-Man continued as he lifted his other leg up to the window. Both were now dangling outside, and the superhero was glancing at him over his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

With that, he disappeared, leaving Lucas standing in the center of his bedroom, completely dumbstruck. This night had been something else.


End file.
